examination - Популярные cтихи, рассказы и фанфики

Who owns those scrawny little feet
Death
Who owns this bristly scorched-looking face
Death

The little letters dance across the page,
Flaunt and retire, and trick the tired eyes;
Sick of the strain, the glaring light,
I rise Yawning and stretching, full of empty rage At the dull maunderings of a long dead sage,